Everything and Nothing
by July Storms
Summary: The word "love" means both everything and nothing to her, now.


**"Everything and Nothing"**

(2,611 words)

**Notes**: What did Hans _really_ take from Anna in the events of _Frozen_? That is the theme of this story. I hope the timeline isn't difficult to follow; if it is, please let me know and I will think of a way to amend it. (Feedback, including critique, would be amazing! Thank you for reading. Please blame the existence of this thing on Searlait (again), because the happy ending is her fault.)

* * *

One evening, when they are sitting on the roof watching the sun set, Kristoff says, "I hope that man's family gave him a proper punishment."

Anna wonders if he is talking to her or to himself; his gaze is focused on the harbor.

"I've had my revenge," she tells him after a moment, when the silence begins to aggravate her.

"He tried to kill your sister!"

"But he didn't." Her voice is firm, and she wonders how they have ended up talking about this again. "He tried to kill me, too. But I am fine, and Elsa is fine, and everyone. Is. Fine."

But she is certain that Kristoff is not fine, has not been fine since she confided in him about what had happened behind closed doors: desperation, the sight of the fire sputtering out, _"If only there was someone out there who loved you."_

"Do you really think one punch to the face is revenge enough?" he asks, sounding just a little lost and a little confused, and a little something-else, something Anna can't quite place.

It has to be, she wants to say, but doesn't, just as she doesn't say a great many other things.

* * *

When she walks by the open door of her sister's study on the way to breakfast, she hears Elsa say, "That man did this to her."

_That man_. That is what Prince Hans of the Southern Isles has been reduced to within the walls of Arendelle's castle; he is not afforded recognition because to give him that would be giving him too much.

Normally, she would keep walking, because it's rude to eavesdrop, but the voice she hears next makes her stop mid-stride.

"I know." It's Kristoff, and his tone is hard in a way Anna has never heard it, hard and stressed and almost shaking. "I hate that he's gotten away with it." And then, "I hate him for what he's done."

Elsa is silent, and when Anna peeks around the corner, her sister's eyebrows are drawn together, and she is looking out the window.

* * *

Kristoff does hate him, _that man_. He's never hated anybody so much in his entire life, but it's easy to hate him because he hurt Anna.

_That man_ had made plans and followed through with them. He had planned from the beginning to kill Elsa, and had poured water on the fire and locked the door so that Anna could not leave the room he had decided she should die in.

Kristoff thinks about it all of the time, of Anna locked in there shuddering in front of the door; he thinks about how scared she must have been to see the fire going out, and he knows that _that man_ has taken something from Anna—something desperately important—that she may never get back.

* * *

He's so in love with her that he almost can't stand it. He doesn't know much about the whole "princess thing," but he knows Anna and she is wonderful. He loves her impulsiveness and her smile and the way she kicks her feet when she's overly excited about something.

It is on a quiet evening in the gardens that he finally speaks; the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them, and for once his tongue does not trip over itself.

"I love you."

She doesn't laugh or squeal or hug him. She just stands there like a gaping fish, eyes wide and looking vaguely horrified. "Wait, what?" she asks, and for some reason he doesn't find it endearing.

But he forces a laugh, himself, forces it and repeats himself, "I, uhm, said that I love you."

She lets go of his arm, hand going to her temple. He doesn't fail to notice that it's shaking, that _she_ is shaking.

"I," she begins, but gets lost on the word, shakes her head, stumbles backward, tries again: "I, uhm… I…"

But she can't move past it and he says, "It's okay," even though it's not. He thinks he might cry, but he doesn't. All the way back to her rooms he reminds himself that it's not her fault, it's not her fault, _it's not her fault_. He can't help but remember that first night on the sled: _"It's true love!"_

He drops her off at her room and kisses her good night, but he wishes for the satisfying feeling of that man's face against his knuckles, and that scares him, because he is not, by nature, a violent man.

* * *

"He told me he loves me."

Elsa looks up from her desk to see her sister standing on the other side, hands clasped in front of her.

"Oh," she says, eyebrows rising, lips quirking upward. "That's sweet of him." She isn't sure what else to say, or if she's supposed to say anything at all.

Anna's eyes turn troubled, and she bites her lip, chews on it.

Elsa feels her chest tighten. "Anna?"

"I didn't say it back." The reply comes softly, and then she repeats herself, the words much too loud in the dark room: "I didn't say it back!"

Elsa's heartbeat quickens. She already knows the answer, but she asks the question anyway, so quietly she isn't even sure she says it at all, "Did you want to?"

Anna bursts into tears. "I don't know!"

Helplessness is Elsa's least favorite thing; she hates it more than anything else, because it is born of fear and loneliness and too many pains of her own past. But she feels it now, creeping in her bones, and she wants to yell down the hall for Kristoff, because she is terrible at consoling people and even worse when it comes to her own sister. She is overly aware of the fact that the words she speaks can hurt or help and she's still so afraid of the former.

Before she can get to her feet, Anna is there in front of her. What begins as a hug ends with Anna on her knees, face buried in Elsa's lap. Elsa can only stroke her sister's hair while her heartbeat continues a staccato rhythm in her throat.

Anna finally says, wiping her tears on Elsa's skirts, "He just means so much to me. Too much, maybe. What if I'm wrong? What if I really _am_ stupid and desperate and pathetic, and I don't know anything about—about _it_?"

Elsa swallows hard. Where is Kristoff to tell Anna she's not stupid? Why is this falling on her when there are some days she has a hard time believing that she herself is worth it?

"He would never have said it if he did not mean it." It is all she can think of to say.

"I know." Anna looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes, and Elsa hands her a handkerchief. "I mean," Anna continues, wiping at her eyes, "I trust him."

And Elsa's heart almost breaks, because she realizes what this means. If Anna trusts Kristoff, then the person she doesn't trust can only be herself.

"Don't let that man ruin this for you," she almost begs. _Don't let him take away your trust in your left; don't let your fear of yourself control you_.

Anna is strangely silent.

* * *

Words she once said so easily now shatter against her tongue and drip down the back of her throat like molasses.

The word _love_ means both everything and nothing to her, now.

Elsa finally breaks the silence in the study. "She'll get better." When Kristoff nods, she continues: "She won't let that man get the best of her."

"Hans!" Anna cries out from the doorway, and both of them turn to stare at her. "Hans! Can't either of you say it? Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles!"

The look on Kristoff's face is something like shock mixed with anger. Elsa just looks uncomfortable. Anna realizes she doesn't care; she needs to say this, needs to let them know.

"He's a man, too!" she insists, tears threatening to do more than hover behind her eyes. "He did and said some terrible things, but you—the two of you just—by refusing to even refer to him by his name—"

Her hands clench into fists and she has to fight to keep from pacing, because that's what she wants to do.

"We give him power," Elsa whispers.

"Yes." Anna sighs. "You have to forgive him. He'll never be welcome here again, but we all _need_ to forgive him."

Kristoff hates the idea; she can see it in his eyes.

"Why?" he asks, voice stressed. "Why should I forgive him? Why should _Elsa_?"

"Because if we don't, we're making him out to be more than a man." Elsa gives her a small smile. "Will it help you, Anna, if we forgive him—Hans?"

Anna feels the relief deep in her bones. "Yes," she tells her sister.

"But he tried to kill the both of you." Kristoff looks troubled. "And Anna, he took away—"

"What?" she asks, turning from Elsa to look at him. "My innocence? Kristoff, all he took away from me was my naïveté."

"You couldn't say it, last night," he tells her, sounding hurt.

"It's not that I can't say it. It's just… The word l-love," she stumbles but only once, and feels ridiculously proud of herself, "it means a lot. And I care too much about you to say it carelessly ever again."

"I wish you didn't have to think about it at all."

Anna smiles at him and tries to make it an encouraging one, but before she can say anything, Elsa interrupts her.

"I'll forgive him," she says. "I'll forgive Prince Hans for what he's done. You're right: he's just a man."

Anna's smile turns genuine. "Thanks, Elsa," she says, and has to fight to keep from crying, because this is what she's needed for months and months. "Kristoff? Please."

"I don't know, Anna…"

"Think about it, at least?" she asks, but tries to keep the pleading out of her voice.

"Yeah," he says, and pulls her into a rough embrace. He musses up her hair with one of his hands and kisses the top of her head afterward. "Sure. For you."

* * *

Kristoff spends the next few days thinking about it.

It is talking to Sven in the stables one evening that he realizes he's being selfish.

"Anger will just eat you up if you're not careful," he imagines Sven telling him.

"I know," he replies, and sighs into his hands. "But he hurt Anna. He hurt her, and she doesn't trust her own judgment anymore."

Sven nudges him gently and snorts. "If she was the one hurt, and she forgave him already…can't you?"

Kristoff pushes his buddy's face away. "I hate it when you're right. But you are. I guess I should forgive the guy. Hans, I mean."

Still, it takes him another few hours to think of what to say and how to say it.

By the time he makes it to Anna's room, it's well after nightfall, and Kristoff is sure he's breaking some kind of rule. He knocks, softly, but there is no answer, so he tries the doorknob.

She's asleep, buried under the blankets and twisted in them at the same time; it makes him smile to see her looking so ridiculous. It's a part of her charm—just another reason he loves her, and another reason it hurts so much that she can't say it back.

"Hey, Anna?" He sits on the edge of her bed and touches her face.

"Already?" she almost cries, and smashes her face into her pillow. "But I just got to sleep!"

"Anna, it's me. Kristoff?"

"Huh?" She peels her face away and squints at him in the dark. "Ohh," she says, and then blushes ten shades of red. "Hi. Uhm, what are you doing here?"

"I just had something to say to you." He smoothes down a few wayward strands of her hair and can't help the affectionate grin on his face as his thumb clears a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. "I'll forgive Hans."

Her eyes widen.

"Anna, he could have had you. He could have married you, and woke up beside you every morning; he could have had the chance to fight you for the blankets in the middle of the night, and he could have kissed away nightmares or held you or made you laugh _every single day_, but he won't get to do any of those things. So I feel a little sorry for him, because he was too _stupid_ to see how wonderful you were when he had the chance. I guess when I think about it, the bastard did me a favor."

She buries herself in his chest, arms wrapping around his back. "I _do_ care about you," she says into his shirt.

"I know."

She pulls back and touches his hair—just one touch, and it's so light he can barely feel it, but it sends a jolt straight into his heart. "I care about you so much," she admits, softly, "that it scares me a little. I have a hard time believing that it's real, sometimes, because it's so overwhelming and—well, anyway… Please don't give up on me, Kristoff. I really do care."

He wants to laugh but it gets lost somewhere in his throat. "Give up on you? Anna, I would _never_—"

The thought is absurd.

"I _will_ say it, one day, and when I do, you'll know that I mean it more than I've ever meant anything in my entire life."

"All right," he agrees, and stays until she manages to fall asleep again.

* * *

She loves this man who sits beside her in the dead of winter out on the garden swing. The chains are frozen with ice and the bench is covered with snow, but he's still here with her, laughing at her jokes and holding her hand. She loves his smile and the shape of his nose and his ability to be patient about everything.

"Kristoff?" she asks right in the middle of one of his stories, when the thought becomes too much to hold in.

He stops immediately and cocks his head to the side. "Yeah?"

There is snow in his hair, making it look dusty, so she brushes it out and sighs at him happily. "You know something?"

His eyes narrow a little in confusion, but he squeezes her hand and it makes her feel giddy with this knowledge that she needs to share with him.

She considers whispering into his ear, but what she has to say is not a secret, so she leans into him, brushes her nose against his, tilts her head just a little.

"I love you," she tells him, eyes fluttering closed.

He replies immediately, his voice cracking, "I love you, too."

He kisses her, but not like she expects him to; his lips land on her forehead, and then he's pulling her against him, gathering her up into his arms and saying, "I love you, Anna. I love you so much."

And she's saying, "I love you, too," but her words only make him hold her tighter.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wet, but he's smiling like she's just given him the best present he could have ever asked for, and it sends a pleasant ache into her chest and heart and belly. "I really do love you," she says, just in case he doesn't believe her.

His response comes just before he kisses her, sounding rough and heartfelt at the same time: "I know."


End file.
